Grey Dawn
by Ol' Man Winter
Summary: The Falmer have returned to reclaim their ancient realm. Can the Dragonborn stop the onslaught? Or will Skyrim once again be the land of the Snow Elves?
1. It Begins

Grey Dawn

The Prince had no name. His people had lost their names sometime during the War of the Crag. They were united in their cause; they all simply became Falmer. But there had always been princes, and they had not yet lost their power.

He sat on an ancient Dwemer chair that overlooked Blackreach. He had never seen his capitol, as he and his brothers and sisters where blind. But he could hear almost everything that went on around him, and smell just as much. Right now, he heard the wheezy voice of his most-trusted aid as he climbed up the stairs.

"My Prince, we await your command. We stand ready." The Prince turned towards the voice of the aid (a reaction they maintained from the days of sight).

"Remember my provisions on the mages of the frozen town. Keep as many alive as you can, and bring them to me."

"Of course, my Prince. I only live to serve your will." The Prince heard the aid scramble down the stairs, and smiled (another reaction from the days of sight). This plan had been revised and rewritten for… centuries. It was a master plan. The reclamation of the Falmer inheritance from the interlopers. They could not stop it.

The Prince frowned in thought. No, perhaps one could stop it… that blasted surface dweller who had careened through his lands like a Dwemer machine, killing all who stood in his way. The Prince had never fought him, but he had heard his voice… the sound of doom…

The Prince shook that thought away. This plan was so water-tight, not even the Shouter could stop it from succeeding. He would fall as well, and the Prince would feast on his flesh. The Prince relished that day.

Calcelmo was writing a letter to his colleague in Winterhold. The two had held a friendly rivalry over the years about Dwemer culture and excavations, but now, Calcelmo was certain that he had one-upped that Bosmer.

"_In response to your declaration that the Falmer are incapable of launching anything more than a simple raid, I would like to point out to you some elements of Falmer culture that was recently uncovered by the Dragonborn on his expeditions two years ago. _

_The Falmer in Blackreach seemed to be friendly, or at the very-least neutral, towards their fellows in Afltland, Mzinchaleft, and Raldbthar, seeming to indicate that they are all in some kind of association, disproving your false claim that they are divided into a series of tribes._

_The Falmer appear to have the ability to manufacture crude, yet effective, weapons on a very large, uniform basis. This also contradicts the idea you put forth in your letter that the Falmer are divided into several 'sub-cultures', which is laughable._

_The Falmer_

He heard Faleen shouting to him from below. He stood up, stretched, and walked down to where his wife of a year was yelling from.

"What is going on, my dear?" The Redguard was pulling on her armor. Now, Calcelmo could hear the sound of fighting echoing from the keep.

"Are the Forsworn attacking?" She shook her head.

"No, Cal, I wish it was the Forsworn. The Falmer you wrote about seem to be more than children's stories and the subject of academics. They swarmed out of the ruins, and are pressing us hard. The Jarl is calling upon us all to defend the city." Calcelmo blinked.

"My dearest Faleen, the city is lost. I have to get these documents out of the city…"

"What documents? What are you talking about?"

"I was actually writing a letter to a colleague when you called about how the Falmer are capable of launching a full invasion, which is happening now. As we debated via courier, I came up with a contingency plan if the unthinkable happened, and they actually attacked. And as such, I have to get the documents out…" Aicantor came from his room.

"Uncle, Faleen, what is going on?"

"The Falmer are invading, and we have to leave. Now." Calcelmo moved to gather his papers, but Faleen grabbed his arm.

"Cal, you are the Court Wizard of Markarth. You pledged to fight for the Jarl with your last breath."

"Well, yes, but…"

"At the altar of Mara, you pledged that you would be with me through eternity. If you break your pledge to the Jarl, would you break your pledge to me?"

"Well, I, uh, er, you see… damn it! Aicantor, I need you to gather my Falmer Invasion file and notes, and then run. Get the Oblivion out of here, go wherever is safe. These documents will save us all. Hurry, boy!" Aicantor opened his mouth, but the look on his uncle's face made his questions vanish. He hugged his uncle, and rushed to do his bidding.

"Now, my dear, er, shall we…" Faleen nodded, and drew her sword. Calcelmo felt the tingle of fire on his palms. It had been a while since he had used his skills in combat. The two walked calmly, side by side, to the door. Faleen opened it, and a vista of confusion unfolded before them.

Guards were struggling against a horde of pale-skinned goblins. While the guards seemed to be holding their own, more and more of the Falmer poured from the ruins. The Jarl was preparing to jump into the fray himself, leading a small band of guards to reinforce the defenders. Faleen and Calcelmo looked at each other. Calcelmo nodded, and Faleen smiled.

The two then ran into the fray.

Together.


	2. Enter the Dragonborn

"_And the braggart named Ragnar was boastful no moooooree...when his ugly red head rolled around on the floor!__" _

"Hrgh?" The Dragonborn awoke from his drink-induced doze, and almost tumbled off of the bench in the Bannered Mare. This elicited a chuckle from the few off-duty guards that frequented the Bannered Mare at un-Divine times of the night.

"Maybe it's time for you to go home, Rognvald?" Rognvald Thunder-Crash glanced over at the only person in Skyrim willing to challenge him without weapons, Ysolda, the owner of the Bannered Mare. After Hulda had sold out to Ysolda last year, she had taken the habit of policing the Dragonborn's drinking. It had the negative effect of pissing off Rognvald. It had the positive effect of preventing the slayer of Alduin from sleeping on the floor.

"Maybe your right, Ysolda. But one more round, for everybody!" Rognvald threw a small bag of septims on the counter, grabbed the mead Ysolda reluctantly proffered, and staggered out of the inn with the guards sniggering quietly into their mugs. The Dragomborn drained the bottle, tossed it off the side of the path, and, after righting himself on a few market booths and walls, made it to Breezehome. He fumbled with his key, and managed to open the door after a brief struggle with the lock.

Locking the door behind him with great effort, Rognvald took off his tunic, kicked off his boots, and stumbled up the stairs, tripping over a book he had left the previous night. He finally reached his bed, and passed out without climbing beneath the blanket.

He woke up the next morning with an awful headache. He groaned, and cursed Sanguine. Then he cursed himself.

"What the Oblivion happened, Rognvald?"He asked himself that after every drunken binge. After the defeat of Alduin, the Dragonborn had found himself without a purpose. The war was, for all intents and purposes, over. After the negotiations at High Hrothgar, neither the Imperials nor the Stormcloaks had the will to continue the bloodletting. The war petered out after a few months, with both sides maintaining an uneasy state of détente.

But Rognvald had fulfilled his destiny. He had saved Skyrim from the dragon menace, and after the parties and fetes, he kind of faded from public view. Now, he was using his money to pay for drunken binges, which ended with him feeling sick, embarrassed, and angry. He stood up, and drinking a potion for hangovers, dragged himself out of his bedroom.

He paused when he passed the loft. That was where Lydia slept… except for those few nights. They had something going, until that Falmer in Darkwater Pass…

"_My Thane!" Rognvald turned to see Lydia tangling with a Falmer they both thought was dead. Rognvald took the great warhammer from his back, and was rushing to help her when her shield slipped. The creature raised his blade with a growl and…_

"No. I'm not reliving that." Rognvald walked down his stairs, and began to tidy up after himself. The thought of Lydia always made him want to reform himself. He dusted his collection of puzzle claws, fixed the display panel that held the axe of Whiterun, and even managed to organize his dresser. He surveyed Breezehome; it was cleaner than it had been for weeks.

Grabbing a small piece of bread and pouring himself a mug of milk, Rognvald flipped through _Uncommon Taste_. Lydia had bought it for him as a joke- Rognvald was terrible in the kitchen. But, while their relationship was in full tilt, he had practiced making the Potage le Magnifique, which he had heard was Lydia's favorite meal. He had it all planned out. The Potage, the showing of the Amulet of Mara, the kiss…

He shook his head. He had to get rid of those ghosts if he was to move on with his life.

A loud banging on his door broke his reverie.

"Dragonborn, we need you now!" Rognvald recognized the voice of one of the guards, and he walked to the door. Opening it, he saw the guard jump back. That was when Rognvald realized he was still shirtless, wearing the ale-stained pants he had on the previous night. Rognvald colored with embarrassment.

"What is going on, guardsman?"

"The Jarl requests your presence at once!" Rognvald gave a small grimace.

"Can it wait? I'm not exactly presentable right now."

"It cannot wait, Dragonborn! The Jarl needs you now! It is most urgent!" Rognvald frowned, and closed the door behind him, following the guard in nothing but his trousers. This drew looks and stifled sniggers from the people in the marketplace. The sight of the Dragonborn in the garb of a town drunk even interrupted the unflappable Heimskr's sermon in front of the Shrine of Talos.

The two entered Dragonsreach. The Jarl was pacing up and down in front of his throne, Irileth and Proventus standing in attendance. Balgruuf looked up at Rognvald when he heard his steps.

"Ah, Dragonborn, I… are you quite alright?" Rognvald waved a hand.

"Yes, I'm fine. What is going on, my Jarl?"

"You would never believe it, Dragonborn! I have received word that the Hold is under attack!" Rognvald was taken aback.

"By who, my Jarl? The Thalmor? Daedra?"

"No, Dragonborn! The city is under siege as we speak, by… Falmer." Rognvald gasped.

"You are sure, my Jarl?"

"Yes, Dragonborn! The surged from Shimmermist Cave to the northeast of here. They did not try to take the city, due to our walls, I guess, but they have taken several locations surrounding us; the farmers have either been slaughtered, or have fled to the city. We are trapped here!"

"Have you told the people, my Jarl?"

"No, not yet. I didn't want them to worry unless we knew the reports were true. And, they are. During the night, Severio Pelagia ran up to the gate, shouting about goblins. The guards thought he was either drunk or on skooma, so they took him into custody. But, he was not intoxicated. I ordered three men to investigate, and only one returned. Severio was telling the truth; the Falmer have invaded my Hold." Balgruuf sank into his throne with realization, looking defeated.

"All is not lost, my Jarl. You have one of the strongest city guard units in Skyrim. Jorrvaskr is even in your city, by the Gods! And the citizens will fight with you." Rognvald was thinking tactically now. They had a good chance… if there weren't that many Falmer out there.

"But no one has seen a Falmer in centuries, much less fought… one..." Balgruuf stared at Rognvald.

"By the Gods, you have fought them! You know what they are like! You know how to defeat them!" Rognvald nodded.

"I pledge my hammer to this cause, my Jarl."

"Thank you, Dragonborn. I will gather the leaders of the city together, and we will discuss our situation. The meeting shall be at midday; plenty of time for you to freshen yourself, Dragonborn." Rognvald colored.

"Yes, my Jarl."

As the Dragonborn walked out of the palace, his mind reflected on his clashes with the Falmer. They were his favorite enemy. They had killed Lydia.

They had killed Lydia.

His fists clenched in rage as he walked. Vengeance would be his, at long last.


	3. Realization

Rognvald pulled the last strap tight and looked at himself in the mirror. He had not trimmed his hair or his beard for months, which gave him a scraggly look. His eyes were slightly bloodshot from the drinking spree he had been on the previous night. A scar from a saber-cat's claw shone brightly on his left cheek. Rognvald thought he looked much older than he was; but he didn't have time to care about his appearance right now.

He left Breezehome in the armor he had crafted from dragon bones. It was his status symbol as Dragonborn; when he wore the armor, people got out of the way. His ebony warhammer was strapped across his back, and his dagger was hanging at his side. All in all, he looked ready for action.

The Jarl's palace was filled with the leaders of Whiterun. Olfrid Battle-Born and Vignar Gray-Mane eyed each other over the central fire. Kodlak White-Mane and Skjor talked quietly. Commander Caius was talking with Danica Pure-Spring and Andurs, while the Jarl and his attendants looked nervous.

"Hail, Dragonborn." The Dragonborn bowed to the Jarl.

"Hail, Jarl Balgruuf." The Jarl raised his hand, and Rognvald took his seat.

"Now that everyone is here, I suppose I should tell you why I called this meeting. Early this morning, a farmer, Severio Pelagia, ran up to the gates of our city, shouting about snow elves. While my men first thought he was drunk, further investigation proved he was right. The Falmer have invaded our hold, and are besieging our town." This caused the meeting to explode into talk.

"Quiet, quiet. Now, not all is lost. We have here among us the Dragonborn himself, who has fought the Falmer on their own territory. He will lead us to victory against this menace. What say you, Dragonborn? Will you lead us?" Rognvald nodded.

"Aye, my Jarl."

"Thank you, Dragonborn. Now, do I have your support, my fellow citizens?"

"Aye!" Came the voice of the town leaders as one.

"Thank you. Dragonborn, do you have a plan to defeat these… Falmer?" Rognvald stood up, and thought for a moment.

"Well, the Falmer are blind. We can use this to our advantage, but they also have keen senses of smell and hearing. That will make ambushes and assaults difficult. They don't seem to like light that much, probably because it gives us an advantage… have any Falmer been seen by the walls today?" The group turned and looked at Commander Caius.

"No, Dragonborn. My men have not seen a single Falmer today."

"They must be waiting for nightfall… hmm… they are probably in the farm buildings, and most likely the meadery, waiting for their attack. Can we get a message out to Fort Greymoor?" The Jarl nodded.

"Aye, Dragonborn, I can send my fastest courier to the Imperial garrison there. "

"Is that wise, Jarl? The Imperials may not wish to help our city," said Vignar Gray-Mane, who detested the Imperials with a passion.

"Old fool, of course it is wise! Without the Imperial's assistance, we cannot defeat the Falmer!" Thundered Olfrid Battle-Born. The two old men would have continued further, if the Dragonborn had not cut them off.

"Quiet! We need all the help we can get, and the Imperial garrison at Greymoor is one of our most valuable assets. My Jarl, are there any bandit groups still in the wilderness?"

"Bandits, Dragonborn? You cannot be seriously considering…"

"We need all the help we can get, my Jarl. If you promise pardons, many will rally to your banner, rather than hide in their caves and towers and be picked off one by one by the Falmer. It will clean up crime in the Hold."

"I don't know, Dragonborn. What if the bandits go rouge? Can we trust them in our city?"

"I believe that we must trust everyone now, my Jarl. All the citizens of Skyrim need to come together… or else we are all doomed."

"I guess your reasoning is sound, Dragonborn. Now, after we have gathered what men we can, what is your plan?" Rognvald blinked a couple of times and worked his lips as the fire burned.

"We need to take the drive the Falmer out of cover. Set fire to the buildings outside of town; force them to come out in the light. The only issue would be getting close enough to the buildings to light them. The Falmer are good shots with a bow, for being blind. My Jarl, do you have any siege engines?" Balgruuf laughed.

"Actually, yes, Dragonborn. When we were worried about a Stormcloak attack, I had one built. It is currently in storage."

"We can use that to destroy the buildings, and then follow up quickly with an attack from the ground. The Falmer will fight like mad, but we will have the light on our side. As soon as night falls, however, it will be a different story..."

"We could withdraw to the walls at sunset," said Kodlak, nodding to the Dragonborn, "this would prevent them from catching us in the field."

"And also… oh, Gods, what of Riverwood?" The Dragonborn realized that the town that had first taken him in was defenseless against such a threat. He thought of Gerdur, Hod, Alvor, Sigurd, and the rest being killed by the Falmer. He felt weak, all of a sudden.

"We must look to our own gates before we can concentrate on the rest of the Hold. What good is our aid to Riverwood if we fail to defend our walls?" The Jarl sounded reasonable, but Rongvald could only think of the promise he had left with them after slaying the dragon that had assaulted their town.

_I will protect you all; I'll make sure you will all be safe_

"My Jarl, I request permission to go to Riverwood at once." Everyone stared at the Dragonborn in shock.

"You would abandon us? In our hour of need? You are my thane!" Blustered Balgruuf, appalled at the Dragonborn.

"I am the thane to the Hold of Whiterun, and Riverwood is part of that Hold! They have nothing but a few guards to defend them from the Falmer; you have walls to fall back to, a strong guard division, and even the damn Companions! You do not need the Dragonborn to save you; but Riverwood does." The Jarl blinked at Rognvald's response.

"I suppose there is no stopping you… go, Dragonborn, if you truly feel you must. I will trust Kodlak White-Mane and Commander Caius with organizing the attack."

"I will do it with pleasure, my Jarl," responded Kodlak. He then turned towards Rognvald.

"The devotion you have to your friends is admirable, Dragonborn. I will fufill your orders to the letter." The Dragonborn nodded at the old man.

"Thank you, Harbinger; here is what you need to do…"


	4. The Battle of Riverwood

Rognvald crept past Honningbrew Meadery as quietly as he could. The building showed signs of damage, and the door was crudely propped in the entryway. If he strained his ears, he could hear the growling sounds of the Falmer… and what seemed to be the squeaking noise of skeevers. _Odd_, he thought, as he moved on. A few Falmer looked out the windows, sniffing the air, and Rognvald froze in his steps; but the wind was blowing towards him, and the Falmer turned away. Rognvald sighed with relief, and continued on.

When he was above the meadery, Rognvald broke into a sprint. He had to get to Riverwood as soon as he could. A few birds tweeted nearby, and a deer ran across his path. Those were all good signs; the Falmer had not yet reached the small mill town.

A guard on top of Riverwoods gate saw the Dragonborn approaching.

"Hail, Dragonborn." He put his hand on his chest in a traditional salute. The Dragonborn nodded.

"Have you seen any Falmer about, guardsman?" The guard chuckled.

"The snow elves? No, Dragonborn." Rognvlad slowed up, realizing they had not heard of the attack yet.

"You haven't… Gods, you're not ready."

"Ready for what?" Rognvald stared up at the guard.

"The Falmer have emerged from underground and are besieging Whiterun."

"Are you drunk?" The guard laughed, until he saw the look on Rognvalds face. "By the Gods, you are not. I will warn the townspeople." Within a few minutes, Rognvald was staring over the small crowd that was the population of Riverwood.

"My friends, I am sorry to return with such bad news; but the Falmer are going to attack. Most likely tonight." The citizens went from snorts of disbelief to muffled screams and gasps of terror as they realized the Dragonborn was serious.

"We're all dead! Drinks for everybody!" Cried the town drunk, Embry.

"Well, looks like it's time to head to Cyrodil," grunted Lucan

"Quiet! All of you! There is no time for drinking or evacuation. The Whiterun guard and the Companions are about to launch an attack on the Falmer surrounding the city, and when they do, they will probably drive a few towards Riverwood. We have very little time to prepare."

"Wait, you mean you are staying? To protect us?" The townsfolk stared straight at Rognvald.

"Yes, I am. I made the promise to you after that dragon attacked that I would protect this village from harm. And I keep my damn promises! Now, are you going to stand with me, or are you going to let me protect your homes by myself?"

The townspeople cheered. Rognvald smiled, and immediately began to make preparations.

Riverwood was a defensive nightmare. The river it was named for provided a means for attack that avoided the walls. And the walls didn't even have gates. The townsfolk were not soldiers (except for the guards), and there were children to protect.

Rognvald, after a brief deliberation with Alvor and Hod, decided on a more defensive plan. Sigurd, Gerder, the children, and Camilla would be at the top of the Riverwood trader, with a woodcutter's axe handy to destroy the stairs if the town fell. Faendal would be stationed on top of the inn with a guard, ready to fire upon any Falmer that approached the town from the direction of Whiterun. The other two guards and the rest of the townsfolk constructed barricades to at least make passing through the gates a hindrance. It was a makeshift defense, but it would have to do.

Almost as soon as the barricade was finished, a crashing sound echoed through the air. Rognvald cursed.

"The attacks beginning; we don't much time now." He glanced at the sun- they just had a few hours left of sunlight.

"We will stand fast, Dragonborn," said Alvor, dressed in the iron armor he had crafted long-ago, hammer in hand.

"Aye," nodded Hod, who was dressed in an old padded-leather cuirass, his war axe at his side.

"I hope so." The defenders of Riverwood scattered around the town, hiding behind barrels and buildings, preparing for the inevitable attack. They waited for what seemed like an eternity, the sound of more impacts reaching them faintly.

Faendal alerted, pointing at something. The guard who was with him looked, nodded, and the two nocked arrows to their bows. The men on the ground adjusted their stance. Rognvald closed his eyes, and breathed deeply.

_Lydia was laughing. The two were walking along the road towards Ivarstead, and Rognvald was making jokes to pass the time. She pulled the hair out of her face, and their eyes met. They stopped, and…_

*Swish* *Swish*

The sound of arrows being loosed brought Rognvald back from his reverie. A Falmer screeched somewhere in the distance, and then all Oblivion broke loose.

Arrows immediately began to fly through the air. Faendal and the guard returned fire, but where quickly forced to reposition by a storm of poisoned arrows. The sound of the Falmer talking and screeching came progressively closer. The wood elf and the guard retreated to the rear of the town, and readied their bows, aiming at the barricade.

The Falmer began to climb over the makeshift barrier, growling with exertion. Two fell with arrows in their chests. A Falmer with a bow fired over the barricade, hitting Faendal in the thigh. He collapsed to the ground, writhing as the poison spread through his body. The guard threw down his bow and drew his sword, as the other defenders of Riverwood stood up and charged.

Rognvald dodged the wild swing of an axe, and brought his hammer crashing down on the head of the Falmer who had engaged him. He turned as a blade bounced off his armor, and broke the knee of another. He raised his hammer high and turned the fallen Falmer's head to pulp. He looked for more targets, but the Falmer were crawling back over the barricade.

"They'll be back," he muttered, and he turned to rally the defense.

Faendal was doing poorly from the poison, and Embry was dead, a Falmer sword in his chest. The rest of the defenders had little more than a few scratches and scrapes. They were gathered around the fallen drunk, looking sheepish and sad.

"Move the body; we can mourn him later. We need to prepare for the second wave." Rognvald knew that sounded heartless, but they needed to do what needed to be done. They stared at him for a second before his words registered, and Embry was dragged inside the Sleeping Giant. Faendal was carried to the second floor of the Riverwood Trader, where his wound was immediately seen to.

With their main archer gone, Rognvald decided to reposition the garrison around the gate, ready to bushwhack the Falmer as they vaulted the barrier. Lucan was sent to watch the river, with instructions to signal them if the Falmer tried to attack from that direction. It was getting darker, and rainclouds began to appear in the sky.

"Damn," whispered Rognvald. "Damn, damn, damn!" The Falmer could probably feel the warmth of the sun dissipate, and were waiting for the defenders vision to be obscured. A light drizzle began to fall, and the wind began to blow hard and cold.

They waited for what seemed like hours. Then, a strangled scream came from the river. The defenders looked to see Lucan be impaled by an ice-spike sent by a Falmer emerging from the river.

"Mage!" bellowed Rognvald, as the sound of the Falmer came from all directions.

"I'll deal with him; protect the gates!" Rognvald rushed towards the mage, who readied another spike.

"WULD!" Rognvald shot forward, swinging his hammer as he did. The Falmer mage was taken aback at this sound, and was beaten to the ground. Rognvald turned to see how the gate defenders were doing.

They were hard pressed. Orgnar had fallen, and a guard was on his knees, his shield buckling under a Falmer's frenzied assault. The rest of the defenders were being pushed back, giving ground as they swung their weapons.

"WULD!" The Dragonborn rushed into the middle of the fray, braining a Falmer who had turned to face him. He fought like a madman; but it was not enough. There were too many Falmer climbing over the barricade. The guard on his knees fell; Hod stumbled as a sword stabbed his side. All seemed lost…

"Get back!" Shouted Rognvald, "Get behind me!" The remaining defenders did so. Rognvald looked, and saw Orgnar struggling weakly to stand up, obviously not viewed as a threat by the Falmer.

The Dragonborn made a decision.

"YOL TOOR SHUL!" A large spout of flame erupted from Rognvald's mouth, engulfing the Falmer, the guards body, Orgnar, and the barricade in flames. Screams erupted, and the Falmer will to attack… collapsed. They fled in apparent terror from the shout, and were finished off by the defenders still standing.

But Rognvald simply stood, staring at the ground. Orgnar was still alive when he had used the shout… he had killed a fellow defender… but it was for the greater good… wasn't it? He shook the thought away. He had saved Riverwood… or what would be left of it…

The Falmer did not attempt another attack that night, and when morning came, Rognvald collapsed in a bed in the Sleeping Giant, and slept. Gerder thought she heard him crying to himself before he drifted off to sleep, but disregarded that thought. The Dragonborn was more than a mere mortal; the deaths the previous night shouldn't affect him at all…

Right?


End file.
